How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. Ennison paused by the little gate. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said.
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